Insomnia, Mud, and Puking Pastilles
by Chocoholic Bec
Summary: Hermione can't sleep. When she hears Ron swearing outside, she decides to go see what's wrong. Rated T for minor sexual references. DH spoilers. RH, obviously.
1. No, I'm Not Tired!

_**DISCLAIMER**: I don't own anything, apart from some chocolate in a drawer in my room. You can't have any, by the way, because it's MINE._

Hermione stared at the roof of the tent, only the slight, irregular bulges and wrinkles showing it to be cloth rather than plaster. Ron was keeping watch and Hermione could hear him pacing back and forth, along with Harry's quiet snoring and the strange, mournful sound of wind rushing through leaves and branches.

A loud thump and a muttered curse from outside interrupted her musings. Employing a few choice words of her own as she got out of bed (Merlin, that floor was cold!) she put on her slippers and padded out to see what was wrong.

Ron was clutching his ankle and rubbing it, his face whiter than normal. Hermione ran over. "Ron, what is it? What happened?"

"Slipped," he grumbled. "Over there," he added, gesturing to a patch of mud with visible mark. "I just twisted my ankle, that's all, don't worry about it."

Straightening, he looked at Hermione, noting the shadows under her eyes and the paleness of her face. "'Mione, what are you doing up? It's almost three in the morning!" he said, checking his watch.

She shrugged. "I couldn't sleep." She paused. "I haven't been sleeping very well for a while, really."

Ron smiled at her, and then quickly ran into the tent. "_Muffliato_!" Hermione heard from inside.

"What'd you do that for?" asked Hermione when he came back out.

"Well, we don't want Harry to wake up, do we? It's bad enough that _you're_ a chronic insomniac, he doesn't need to be one too," he teased.

She grinned, but before she could think of a suitable retort, she noticed something else. "Ron, your trousers are filthy!"

"Oh. Are they?" he asked, looking at them. "_Scourgify_!" A little bit of the mud vanished. "Well, that's a _bit_ better," he said, grumpily. Hermione giggled to herself.


	2. Dude, Where's Your Bra?

_**DISCLAIMER**: I still don't own anything except for that chocolate. And no, you still can't have any._

Ron looked at her again, now noticing that she had lost quite a lot of weight, and also that she was rather underdressed for the weather.

"Aren't you cold, Hermione? You aren't even wearing a dressing gown," he said, his eyes inexplicably drifting down to somewhere near the top button of her pyjamas, which were rather too low-cut for either of them to be completely comfortable.

Hermione, however, didn't notice where his eyes were (or even a small shifting in his position that indicated more than a slight interest in said area), as she was too busy observing the goosebumps on her arm.

"Now that you mention it, I am rather chilly," she said.

Ron shook his head. "Well, c'mon then, let's get you back inside! You look freez-Merlin's pants!" he yelped, interrupting himself. His ears were darkening from pink to red, like they always did when he was embarrassed or under pressure.

"What? What's wrong?" gasped Hermione, wondering if a monster was standing behind her, or worse, Harry – she'd seen what he was like in the middle of the night, especially after not getting enough to eat.

The scarlet spread from Ron's ears to his entire face. "I… um… you probably don't want to know," he mumbled, sounding at first as if coherent speech was beyond him.

"For heaven's sake, Ron, what is it?"

Ron blushed even deeper, if that were possible. "You… your chest."

"Well, what about it?" said Hermione, feeling exasperated. "Just spit it out, can't you?"

Ron bit his lip and swallowed. "You aren't wearing a bra, are you?" It sounded like a rhetorical question. His eyes were now firmly fixated on her breasts.

Hermione walked up to him, scowling. "Firstly, _Ronald_, it's the middle of the night and let me tell you, underwires are bloody uncomfortable to sleep in." By now, her face was a shade of maroon to rival Ron's. "Secondly, put your eyes back in your head! My face is up here!" she said, pointedly.

Ron, now looking everywhere except at her, started to stammer an apology, but Hermione held up a hand to silence him. "Thirdly, why the hell are you so interested in whether I'm wearing a bra or not?"

His eyes slowly drifted back to her bosom. "It kind of… shows. That you aren't wearing one, I mean."

"It _shows_?" She looked down and, low and behold, her nipples were proclaiming to the whole world (or at least one Ronald Bilius Weasley) that she was pretty much freezing her arse off out here. "Merlin's pants!" she shrieked, hurriedly throwing her arms around herself.

"I said you wouldn't want to know," said Ron, sounding apologetic.

Hermione sat down in the mouth of the tent and buried her face in her hands. "You were right. And now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to crawl under a rock and die now," she said through her fingers.


	3. Ron The Incestual

_**DISCLAIMER**: I ate the chocolate. I now don't own anything at all._

Ron ran over and crouched in front of Hermione, desperately grabbing her shoulders to stop her moving away. "'Mione, don't go! We haven't had a chance to talk about anything except You-Know-Who for months! Just – just go inside and get a jumper, then come back and we can forget that ever happened and talk about, I don't know, the five exceptions to Gamp's Laws of Elemental Transfiguration if that's what makes you happy." He paused. "Besides, it's not like I haven't seen worse."

Hermione hurriedly took her hands away from her face. "What? Who?" She paused, and added sourly, "Lav-Lav?"

Ron scoffed. "Don't be ridiculous."

"Then who are you talking about? Do you have some secret girlfriend that you forgot to mention?"

"Actually, it was Ginny, summer of fifth year." He coloured.

"Incest? Kinky, Ron, I didn't know you were into that," she teased.

"Hermione!"

"Sorry. Go on." She made a face.

"Well, I walked in on her while she was in the bath, that's all. I don't remember what hexes she screamed, but when I came to, I was covered in boils, flying bogies were attacking my head, and Fred and George were testing some of their joke shop products on me. They hadn't got them right yet, either, I still have a scar on my ankle from the itching powder they were trying on me." He lifted up his trouser leg to reveal a reddish splotch.

Hermione found herself laughing at this sorry tale, all the tense feelings of the last couple of months almost totally vanishing. "You have no idea how much I've missed you, Ron," she said, shaking her head and smiling.

"I've missed you too, 'Mione." He pulled her up and hugged her tightly. "More than you could possibly imagine."


	4. Lockhart's Patented NoDecay Spell

_**DISCLAIMER**: If I really owned the rights to Harry Potter, do you really think I'd be writing DISCLAIMER at the top of this story? Hmm?_

They stood there holding each other, and for one dizzying moment Hermione thought that Ron was going to kiss her. But, a second later, she was brought back to earth, when he let go of her as suddenly as he had hugged her.

He turned away slightly, making a great show of fiddling with the zipper on his jacket. "Would you like a cup of tea, then?"

Hermione felt vaguely disappointed that he was saying something so ordinary after they had just been embracing, but smiled anyway. "I'd love a cup of tea, especially if you're offering to make it."

He shrugged, turning back to face her. "Well, I guess you could go get a, um, bra or jumper on or something while I make some tea. How 'bout that?"

Hermione nodded and ducked back into the tent. Summoning all of her bras (even as she selected one, her face flushed at the thought that she was subconsciously picking her prettiest bra in case Ron saw it – not that she wanted him to, she told herself quickly) she threw one on as fast as humanly possible.

Even so, by the time she went out into the kitchen, two large mugs of tea were sitting on the counter, and a pot of something was bubbling away on the stove.

"Soup?" asked Hermione, sniffing it.

"More of a stew, really," Ron replied. He looked away from her. "Y'know how I told you I Apparated to the wrong spot after getting away from the Snatchers?"

Hermione knew that this was a difficult subject for both of them. "Yeah, I remember," she said, not wanting to put too much pressure on him.

"Well, I came across a farmhouse, actually. This lovely family lived there. Muggles, of course, with a really sweet little kid called Rose. She looked a bit like you, actually, with curly brown hair, but she had blue eyes instead of brown-"

Hermione interrupted his reminiscence. "She sounds like an adorable little girl, and Rose is a lovely name, but is this going anywhere?"

"Oh, right. Yeah. So anyway, I told them that I was camping nearby and asked if they could spare any food, because I was really hungry, and they gave me these leftovers. They asked me if I wanted to stay the night, too – like I said, they were really nice – but I wanted to find you guys so I said no."

Hermione raised her eyebrows. "You've had food all this time? Why didn't you say so yesterday?"

"I forgot about it, actually," Ron admitted. "After using Lockhart's Patented No-Decay Spell, which he probably stole off someone else like all of his other spells, Spellotape on the lid to stop it leaking, and putting it in my pocket after using an Undetectable Extension Spell – brilliant idea of yours, by the way – I only remembered just now." He stirred it. "Done, I think." He decanted it into two chipped bowls and grinned at Hermione.

"So what's in it?" she asked.

Ron started to rattle off ingredients. "Beef, potatoes, peas, carrot, celery, onion and," as he took something green out of his pocket and put a bit of it into each bowl, "a sprig of parsley." He handed the bowl to Hermione. "Bon appétit!"


	5. Purple Parts of Puking Pastilles

_**DISCLAIMER**: I now own some more chocolate, but I don't own anything else._

They sat at the kitchen table in silent camaraderie, spooning stew into their mouths and occasionally sipping their tea. Hermione felt warm from head to toe, and her stomach was full for the first time in days. She had just swallowed another mouthful when her stomach suddenly cramped. She groaned aloud, and Ron had just enough time to jump up from the table, grab a bucket and shove it beneath her mouth.

He couldn't help but notice, even though her face was blotchy and she had vomit on her chin, just how beautiful she was.

"Hermione?" he asked gently. "Hermione, what's wrong?"

She moaned quietly before throwing up again.

Ron didn't know what he could do to help, but he did know that Hermione was going to get puke in her hair if she kept being so violently ill. Holding her hair back with one hand, he picked up her bowl with the other so that he could have a look to see if there was anything in there that could have caused this reaction.

Oh.

He let go of Hermione's hair to pick the small purple capsule out of the stew. The anti-emetic part of a Puking Pastille – Hermione must have swallowed the other end. He had, come to think of it, put the stew in the same container that had once held his supply of Skiving Snackboxes.

Hermione stopped vomiting for a moment, and Ron quickly stepped forward and put the purple pill into her mouth. She swallowed quickly, before she could be sick again.

Oh, Ron, I feel so awful," she whimpered, before breaking down in tears.

Ron put his arms around her, trying to avoid the vomit stains on her clothes. "Hush, 'Mione, it's alright. I'm here."


	6. Scourgify!

_**DISCLAIMER**: I still don't own anything. I even ate my chocolate (again)._

Hermione looked up at him with tears on her cheeks. "What happened?"

Ron scowled. "There was a Puking Pastille in your food. I'll have to have a word with Fred and George about their products, the purple end's meant to make you completely better and you're still sick."

Hermione glared at him. "Don't be ridiculous, Ron, I'm perfectly –" she said, as she collapsed onto the floor.

Ron smirked. "You certainly are." Leaning down, he picked her up off of the floor, ignoring her multiple protests.

He carried Hermione into the bed/living-room, where he set her down on the sofa. After tenderly stroking her hair, he went into the bathroom and dampened a face-towel.

"This is so humiliating," moaned Hermione, as Ron gently wiped vomit off of her face.

"Nonsense," chided Ron, sounding almost like his mother. "Haven't you ever had someone clean you up after you've been sick before?"

"Yes, of course, but not since I was about seven!" snapped Hermione.

Ron put his hands on his hips. "Your pyjamas have puke on them, too. You should really –"

Hermione interrupted. "No. No, no, no. I am not taking either the pants or the top off, no matter how much sick they got on them. Can't you clean it by magic or something?"

"I don't think so. My pants still have mud on them, don't they? I'm not any good at those householdy spells, you know me."

"Well, can't you give me my wand?"

"You barely have the strength to move, let alone cast a spell! Look, I'll try it myself, but if it doesn't work, I think we'll have to soak your pyjamas, and you really can't do that when you're wearing them."

Hermione sighed. "Fine. Go ahead, then."

Ron took a deep breath. "Okay. _Scourgify_!" Not a single stain disappeared, however.

"I take back what I said before. Getting my face cleaned wasn't humiliating. _This _is going to be humiliating," muttered Hermione.


	7. If You Don't Mind, I'd Like Some Clothes

_**DISCLAIMER**: Really, haven't you been reading the disclaimers at the top of the previous chapters? I don't own anything! _

Hermione attempted to undo the buttons of her pyjama top by herself, but didn't seem to even have the strength to do that. Ron rolled his eyes. "For heaven's sake, 'Mione, just let me do it."

She shut her eyes and tried to ignore the fact that Ron was undoing the buttons on her top, and not for any reason she'd imagined. Nevertheless, she couldn't ignore it: his warm breath was on the back of her neck, and his long fingers once or twice (accidentally?) brushed against the skin of her breasts.

After rather too long, she felt a breeze on her chest and realised that all of the buttons were undone. "Hermione, can you lean forward please? The chair back's in the way."

She leaned forward and Ron took her pyjama shirt off – again, not for any reason she'd imagined. She inhaled silently as he, very gently, ran his fingers down her back.

"Hermione, you're so thin," he said, sounding very concerned. "You've lost so much weight. I could count every rib if I wanted to."

"Ron, d'you mind not stalling? I'd rather get this over and done with, if you don't mind."

Even though she couldn't see his face, she could tell he was grinning as he said, "Sorry, Hermione. Anyway, d'you think you can do your pants on your own?"

She sat up and glared at him. "I certainly hope so. I've been doing that for years."

Ron turned around and started to look through his clothes. "Let me know if you need help."


	8. Preservation of Modesty

_**DISCLAIMER**: Yeah. It's the end of the story, and I still don't own anything. Happy now?_

Hermione, however, did manage to take off her pyjama pants without any help from Ron. When he came back, he was carrying his largest long-sleeved top. Hermione raised an eyebrow. "What am I going to do with that?"

Ron grinned. "Wear it. It'll hang down to your knees, you see. Plus it's got a high neckline - preservation of modesty and all that. I could have given you your own clothes, but if you're sick again, it would probably be better if it was in this old thing, right?"

Hermione sighed. "I guess I don't have any choice, do I?"

"Not really. So you may as well put it on now." He handed it over. "And it's fuzzy on the inside."

Hermione tried to tug it over her head. "I can't get it on!" she said, muffled.

Ron reached through the neck hole to feel why it was stuck.

"Ron, get your hand off of my face!"

"Hermione."

"What?"

"You're trying to put your head through an arm hole."

He tugged the top into the right position, and was rewarded with the sight of Hermione's face – red, scowling, and with hair flying everywhere, but unquestionably hers.

"Now your arms, right?"

"Ron! I do know how to put a top on!"

Five minutes later, she had finally managed to get her arms into the sleeves properly.

Ron sat down next to her and put his arm around her shoulder. She leaned on him, and then decided to ask him something she'd been wondering for hours. "Ron? Why did you agree that we needed to visit the Lovegoods?"

He turned to face her. "Because…"

"Because?" prompted Hermione.

"Because I agree with what you said," said Ron after a lengthy pause. "The more we know, the better, right?" He silently cursed his cowardice. Why couldn't he say what he desperately wanted to say – the real reason, in fact, that he had agreed with her?

"Oh," said Hermione, after several seconds. "Okay. Look, I'm tired, d'you think we should call it a night?"

"Yeah. It's almost four in the morning, you know, we should probably get a few hours sleep, right?" replied Ron.

Hermione nodded. Ron stood up, yawned theatrically, and then picked her up. Hermione, instead of protesting like she had before, snuggled into him as he carried her over to her bunk. "'Night, Ron," she murmured as he tucked extra blankets around her.

"G'night, Hermione," he said, brushing her hair back from her face.

He leaned over and kissed her, very softly, on the forehead, then went over to his own bed. He rolled over to face her bunk.

"Love you," he whispered.

**The End**


End file.
